


Of These Harrowed Souls

by Learlorde



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Catastrophe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Learlorde/pseuds/Learlorde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As wounds begin to heal from the recent Mandarin incident, the team finds themselves getting sucked into a severe investigation after few shocking Extremis attacks unravel into a dire battle. And as they try to pick up the pieces, the team discovers a scheme that could potentially engage them in an all out war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This Fandom is loosely based off of Marvel's CMU, however, it may also be accompanied by material from the comics, and slight variations of my own (like most fanfics). Nevertheless, this story and future stories, will accurately follow the Avengers as a whole, the individual characters, and the timeline. Aside from that, I obviously don't claim any ownership of this marvelous universe, except for this specific storyline, which takes place approximately three weeks after the events of Iron Man 3.
> 
> Now, who this is for. I've always been into the seriously deep storylines, the ones you fall so in love with that you want there to be more. And I'll just be honest with you: I hate slash, and therefore, romance. I do apologize to those hardcore shippers I greatly respect, but that isn't me, and I know there are others like me. Lovers of writing and reading, who just adore the next incredible adventure of blood, sweat, and tears. So, here is for both you and I. Please enjoy :)

_"Life can only be an illusion if chaos does not exist."_

* * *

Mum and crepuscule. The perfect compliment towards the eerie that gulped the factory. It was so perfect, that it was almost despised. Nothing could be seen, nothing could be heard; all except for the light treading of his boots, which could not avoid the echo that ceaselessly bounced among the walls. A foundation so old and so abandoned that the structure was sorely being penetrated by the winter's abhorrent frost. Even in the pitch dark, the archer could feel it with every touch, every breath; the crisp of it sharp in his chest, a thousand knives scaling at his insides.

Cloaked like a meat locker, the concrete walls were rigid and painful to the nerve. Visibility wasn't even a necessity to know icicles hung from the ceilings, grate walkways, and whatever else took to factory heights. Even the floors were accompanied by a thin sheet of ice. Then there was the factor of smell: an icy, yet musky odor from years of the solid melting and refreezing, again and again. It didn't even matter anymore, whether it was dealt that no enemies remained,  _nobody_  wanted to be in this horror house.

Merely brushing the glacier-like walls, Clint drew in a deep breath. His fingers rhythmically plucked at the arrow equipped bowstring as he slowed at the corridor's corner. Every step taken was with care, considering the smallest misplacement could have led to another set back of this unfortunate event. At least maneuvering through the halls wasn't completely an abyss, though the spy's HUD lenses were glitching like a bitch. But, he cautiously followed the guided path anyhow, which had come across an intersection.

Breaking at the icy barrier, Clint tensed his fingertips at the string and mildly crouched defensively. With an exhale, he swiftly moved from the corn-  _"Ah,"_  he huskily winced at the drawing, immediately losing his stance from the slight flinch. " _Uh_ , stupid arm," the Avenger growled under his breath, physically shaking his right arm to rid it of the harsh pain.

"You okay, Barton?" Stark voiced over, a bit subconsciously.

"I'm fine," Clint uttered, returning his gaze forward. Re-arming with the string, the survivalist hushed, observing the hall through the lenses. In the end, he sighed and relaxed his grip on the weapon. There was nothing, just like the rest of the factory: a barren wasteland. "I'm not getting much luck so far. How about you guys?"

"Negative on the north end," Romanov was the first to respond.

"Nothing here either," the billionaire hampered, before asking the AI, "Jarvis, how's it looking?" Silence hung in the midst of space until static crackled through the line, which went dead in a matter of seconds. "Well, I guess that answers the question. I'm assuming we lost Banner as well. Right buddy?" He finished disappointingly as the recognition never swept over.

"What the hell do you think they did to this place?" The archer muttered as he gradually patrolled down the intersection. "Could have uploaded the software to the database, I suppose," he followed up on his own question, knowing that that mechanism was most logical.

As Clint critically gazed the walls, Stark second, "You're right, it makes the most sense with the loss of signal... I just can't believe how strong that software is." The agent dropped his focus at the cripple in his friend's voice.

"Don't worry about it, Stark. You'll just create something stronger and smarter, like you always do," the Captain then input, adding, "And there's nothing here on the south end."

Furrowing his brow, Clint stopped in his tracks and snorted heatedly, "What the  _fuck._ " Swinging around, he scanned as far as he could see through the darkness. "For all we know, this could be a damn scam. They could be holding the hostages elsewhere," he stated, moving along the opposite wall. Discreetly, he examined the doors frozen over with ice, checking if the knobs had been cleared and were operable.

"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet; they made a deal with us," Rogers confirmed, obviously still hopeful in it all sorting out.

Disagreeably, the archer shook his head in disbelief at the soldier. Clint even began parting his mouth in retort, but the Widow beat him to it. "Not everybody plays fair, Steve," she smoothed over truthfully. Steve was a _soldier,_ and yet, somehow he didn't get betrayal like the way some people on this team did. It soon became so repetitive to the Hawk, that sometimes he could accurately predict the enemy's next move. And at this point in the search, his hope in a candid bargain was draining like an hourglass.

The comment seemed to quiet Steve for a moment. "And the Extremis are a part of that percentage, Cap," the genius said, continuing, "In that relation to software, it's not the fact that I can't make something stronger. It's the fact that they're strong enough to block Jarvis, and that leaves us blind. Right now, they're the ones with the advantage. Com'on, Steve, even you know this." Clint kicked at something frozen to the upper layer of the sheet as Stark concluded.

"I know, you're right, they do have an advantage. But that doesn't execute other ways around the bush," Steve countered calmly.

The object tore with an irritating squeak, ripping apart and fluttering back to the surface like snow. "I'm not sure how much  _old fashioned_  is going to do for us," Natasha murmured. Narrowing his eyes, Clint lowered to a knee and settled the bow atop it.

"Maybe it won't... but a friend once told me that sometimes this world needs a little _old fashioned_ ," the Captain returned with slight bemoan. With his thinned gloves, he pulled at the object in investigation. It was a styrofoam cup, from...? Unsheathing his knife, the Avenger forcefully picked at the rest of the ice encasing the cup. Luckily, it wasn't dense, and within a few good strikes it freed.  _Tim Hortons_ , it read. "Let's just find them, okay? We can debate about this later on," Steve sighed heavily, which both Stark and Romanov acknowledged.

"Uh, guys, I think I got something," Clint informed, spotting the tiny frozen drips of hot chocolate or coffee.

"What is it?" The super-soldier fished.

"A styrofoam cup from Tim Hortons," he inclined, picking it up from the rim. "And from the looks, it definitely hasn't been here long, a night or two at most."

The archer, with stability from his palm, pushed himself upright. "Clint, where are you?" Romanov seeked as he released the torn cup, letting it fall back to the ice.

Glaring down the belie corridor, Clint answered, "I was headed towards the center. I'm going to keep in that direction, the hostages must be close." Reclaiming the bow in his right hand, the Hawk tentatively advanced down the hall with every step crunching from the ice.

"Alright, be careful," Stark noted, "we'll meet you there soon."

Clint took a cold breath that stung the inside of his ribcage. Progressively, he tried pacing himself more swiftly, but there was something that kept gluing the archer's feet. In a sense, this was déjà vu, but of course, some cases ended better than others. Before the Avengers even existed, Clint was set out to either rescue or assassinate, which most were a success. Well, at least the assassinations, but some rescues were stamped FAILED in the end. He'd seen this before, he'd felt this before; the knowing, the doubt that they were still alive. That phase of hope had slipped from his grasp, no matter how tightly he held on; it was also that same doubt that cried and screamed for Clint to stop proceeding onward... but that's when he found dribbles of crimson dotting the ice.

At the sight, the Avenger's gait sped, bearing after the faint trail of blood. "No, no, no," he whispered as the volume of red increased. Within the next moment, Clint found the trickle approaching what appeared to be something of a vault. Deccelerating, the Hawk came to understand that it was instead a heavy duty door, which the lenses pulled a code input next to it. Running his hand over it, he then thought:  _five fives..._  That's what the Extremis said, right? Punching in 55555, there was a sudden  _snap_  as the door popped loose.

Sliding a hand between the space of the door and the frame, Clint stiffly pushed it open with a metallic whine. And with a last sigh, Clint finally lifted his gaze from the wheels; prepared for the possible scene he was about to discover...

Even the poor flicker of light on the ceiling was enough to see the scarlet creeking towards the middle of the room, where five chairs decorated the outer ring of a circle. There, a circular table occupied the center, without even a millimeter of space between the rim and the chair backs. And bounded to those chairs were the five hostages; three women and two men. All, with slit throats.

In a fit of rage, the archer gritted his teeth and plummeted a fist against the wall, snarling,  _"Bastards!"_

 _"Barton!"_  Steve yelped, obviously alarmed by Clint's aghast. Nearly letting his hand fall to his side, the spy suddenly comprehended that his fist was resting in blood. Pushing back from the wall, Clint could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Thick streaks of the liquid masked the walls, like somebody had dipped their fingers in it and used it as ink... and the wall was the parchment. " _Barton_ , do you copy?" The soldier demanded as the Hawk remained crucially speechless, watching the red percolate as if it were tears.  _Oh my god..._ That was  _exactly_  what it was. Rotating to capture a decent view of the entire room, Clint found blooded words lidded on almost every inch of the circular walls, and every one spelled out  _chaos_.

There was an agonizing moment as Clint just stared, not even knowing how to put this. "Yes... I copy," he awed, crushed. Turning to gawk over his shoulder, Clint devastedly laid his eyes on the victims. "Guys.. we have a.. um.. we have a mishap."

"No...," the Captain dilatorily denied as if he knew what the sniper was hinting at.

"They're gone, they're all gone, " he tepidly animated in disgust. "The hostages... they slit their throats." A grimm silence condemned the line. After all, there wasn't much that could be said, or therefore, done, as such information painstakingly absorbed into their minds. And as they did, Clint leisurely approached one of the woman to confirm she was dead.

"Are you sure they're all gone?" Natasha moderated as a vaguely beaten cuss from Steve wavered through the comm.

"Yes," he hesitantly output, moving from one body to the next. No matter how long or how hard he searched for a pulse, there was nothing... no life remained, no life  _could_  remain after such a slaughter. But then, reaching the fourth victim, a struggled breath struck his eardrum. The Hawk split his attention to the fifth victim. "No -  _Wait_ , I have a survivor," Clint exigently said, closing on the young blond.

"Hang in there, we're coming," Steve called.

"Hey, hey...," he gently murmured, trying to get her focus as he knelt before her and set the bow down. "Hey, can you hear me?" Asking, Clint severed the rope that restricted her hands and feet with his knife.

Barely breathing, she rasped weakly, "...yes..."

Pulling out gauze, Clint placed them on the wound. "I need to apply pressure, okay?" The girl gave a fatigued nod as her eyes began to droop. The archer's features fell in defeat at the abundant of blood sticking to her; there was no way she'd make it out of here. She was gonna pass, just like the rest... but, Clint proceeded in question, "What's your name?"

"...Madelynn...," she sniffled, leaning her head on the chair back as he gingerly pressed the gauze against the gash.

"My name is Clinton, but my friends call me Clint."

It took him slightly aback at Madelynn's mere smile. "You're the archer?" She started to giggle kindly, "My best friend... is obsessed with you."

Huffing amusingly, Clint admitted, "I've recently found out that a lot of people are."

"And here I am, dying in your arms," Madelynn feebly broke out in laughter until she began coughing, the carbon dioxide gathering in the frozen air.

"You're not going to die," the Hawk lied reassuringly, letting her grab his hand.

Gasping for a breath, Madelynn spoke, "D-don't lie to me..." With the last strength she could mustered, the girl turned her dull gaze to meet Clint's. "A lot of people think that the Avengers have the greatest job in the world...," she began in a frail, "But then I wonder, about those days... when you don't win." Pausing, she inhaled another pocket of air. "...I can't even imagine.. how much loss you must go through..." Clint dropped his eyes as she continued, "...And yet, you still sacrifice everything... to save so many people.." Glancing back up, he sighed as Madelynn gradually rose her hand. Clint could tell she was trying to raise it higher, but it only made it to his shoulder. "...You can't save everybody...and that's..okay..." She released her glare from him, finding something on the floor to stare at.

"I'll remember that, Madelynn," Clint comforted as Madelynn grew quiet for a long moment, but listening to the rough respiratory noted she was still alive. However, in the next few seconds, he couldn't hear it anymore. Shutting his eyes, he sighed, "Negative... there are no survivors."

"We copy," Romanov replied after a mournful moment.

Respectfully placing Madelynn's hands on her lap, Clint forced himself into a stand. In habit, he nearly ran a hand through his hair, but stopped himself at the sight of the bloodied gloves. Blowing out from his cheeks, the archer ran his gleam over the circular table he'd not analyzed yet, and... there was something on it. Not daring to remove his gloves in case it'd been laced with poison, Clint reached for it.

It was an envelope. And just like the walls, in the center of it was titled a blood-written  _chaos_. Flipping it over, and opening it, the Avenger pulled out a folded piece of paper. Peeling it into a full sheet, it read:

_Rest well, have hope, and be strong, because we're going to slaughter you too._

_Love, Max_

* * *

_"Life can only be an illusion if chaos does not exist."_


	2. (1) No Rest for the Weary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gradually inching into this story, I centered this chapter around a settle and relaxing beginning. However, as the night prevails, the real trouble starts when two of our heroes are called out to handle a certain situation. I've edited this chapter and read this chapter hundreds of times, and I hope it lives to your expectations :) And for one final note, I may be thinking of starting a series with this story. So, if you're interested, stay tuned! Aside from that, please enjoy No Rest for the Weary.

**7 Days Earlier**

 

The last threads of light gradually seeped from the earth like blood, allowing the dark to gate the snow that rampaged in its downfall. And the cold… there was no doubt it was invading through the thick walls and glass that birthed the tower, even with the heat cranked. It just continuously jabbed, leaving the icy air to brush any exposed piece of skin and the worst of it – it was a damp cold. Every breath, indoor or out, it felt like your lungs were burning of cold fire. Throws and blankets of fleece and wool were draped across the floors, over the couches and beds – the tower had seriously been overrun with blankets. They definitely helped fight the bitter winter, but the cruel of it instantaneously sucked any sliver of heat remaining; especially with the frost that crystallized the windows and seemed to trap them in an endless season. Then there were the hassles of missions, but at least Stark did his best to keep them comfortable while in the service of the public or SHIELD. The important thing was that they were in this together, step by step; and gradually, they would get through it just like the rest of the world.

Though he was probably exaggerating, Steve felt that he would be able to see his breath if he squinted hard enough. Bundled in dark jeans, a casual long-sleeve, a decorative coat, and a knitted cap over his blond head, Steve had his face buried within his folded arms as he sat at the gallery's island. Lifting his chin, the soldier merely slithered his arm across the black granite, tightening his fingers around the base of the styrofoam cup that stationed in front of him. Dragging it towards him, Steve brought the rim to his lips, enjoying the warm steam that brushed his features. Tilting the cup, Steve carefully sipped the light tea in an attempt to avoid getting burnt before setting it down with a hummed sigh. The warmth tingled nerve to nerve pleasantly, but was immediately demolished as the chill soon fetched a shudder.

Drifting his eyes over to the lounging area, he had second thoughts about claiming the armpit of one of the sofas. The embers of the distant fireplace were gradually burning out, leaving the dimming to add with the quiet and the emptiness. Steve suddenly glanced down at his wrist which bore no watch and puffed out his cheeks in boredom, until they deflated. Swiveling the twistable stool as he reached for his cup, Steve pushed himself into a stroll towards the sofas; however, he then stopped midway when a gentle  _whoosh_  sounded. He shot his head in the direction of the elevator as the doors slid apart, revealing three figures that emerged. "You look lost, Cap." Steve scowled as his eyes fell upon Stark whose voice rolled into existence; the man slowly followed behind Bruce, fixing the cuffs of his coat while being preceded by Pepper.

"How convenient, because I was just wondering the same thing about you," the soldier returned, moving his way over to them until they met at the middle.  _Humph…_  Scanning the couple from head to toe, Steve realized that they were actually matching below the not-yet zipped coats they were wearing. Tony was attired in a pure white suit with a royal-purple tie, while Pepper wore a very fancy dress with a design in the same hues. "You both look really nice together," Steve admitted with a nod, familiarizing them with two turtle doves.

"Thank you, Steve. You look comfy," Pepper acknowledged, rounding onto the other side of Tony.

" _Haha_ , yes, even I admit it can be a pain dressing up during the winter," he replied with a warm shrug, thankful for the casual wear the two suggested; even Bruce looked at ease, dressed in a casual grey suit. It was supposed to be a relaxing night and hopefully it would be.

" _Ugh_ , tell me about it," Pepper tuned as she and Tony lead the way back towards the elevator with elbows entwined. Steve felt kinda bad for her, trying to imagine wearing a dress in the winter if he were a woman… Yeah, it probably wouldn't work out.

Trailing close behind them, Steve received an amused expression from Bruce as the scientist added, "At least the attire didn't call for freestyle; I'm sure we'd be seeing Barton running around shirtless." Good Lord, they'd be lucky enough if he did run around shirtless because Steve was positive the Hawk would mostly choose running around in underwear just for the fun of it.

Chuckles complied the comment for a brief moment before Tony chimed quietly, "Speaking of the devil, I'm assuming he and Natasha took off already?" The billionaire asked as they approached the elevator doors.

Steve took another sip from his tea. "Yeah, they left a little while ago to help Rhodes and Hogan with any last minute prepping."

"Hopefully we get there before they shoot anyone dead of suspicion," Bruce imported as the four of them piled into the elevator.

Unfortunately, the slight retort led to a disciplining prod from Pepper. "What? Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration?" She asked softly as Bruce's sentence increasingly leaned more towards serious rather than joking.

"Actually, I'm with Bruce on this," Tony agreed while Steve pressed the button that would take them to the garage.

"If it makes us feel better, we could transfer them to clean up duty for bad judgement." Catering in amusement, Steve let his back gently fall against the wall, patiently waiting for the end of the ride.

"That could work," the scientist supported.

"I'm sure they'll be  _fine_ ," Pepper reassured as they broke in faint laughter.

Harnessing a sigh, Steve laid his head back and shut his blue eyes while holding the styrofoam cup against his stomach. He'd prefer to ask what the two were going to present at the Expo to continue conversation, but it'd be worthless as Tony would just turn the curiosity down. The brief quiet was peaceful though, and it'd probably be the most peace they'd get out of the entire night. However, a heavy cough struck Steve's eyes open once again, sweeping his focal point pass Tony and landing on Bruce. He scanned for any sign of concern or uncertainty, but whatever emotion was truly there, if any, Bruce ultimately seemed calm. Steve bunched his lips, feeling that perhaps they should once again discuss the idea of allowing Tony to hold an Expo this early after the shrapnel had been removed from his chest; the soldier remained silent, though, knowing the topic would just irritate the genius. It had already been confirmed, it was done, it was going down, and there was no going back. "Which cars are we taking?" Steve asked once the doors finally slid open and he brought up the rear as they exited the elevator.

He began branching off from Pepper and Bruce with the billionaire as they were pairing up to take separate cars. "Let me ask you something, Cap: ever driven a Lamborghini?" Tony smirked as Steve matched in stride with him while the genius sent his hand in a search through his pocket.

"I don't believe so," Steve answered honestly as Tony rounded to the other side of the sport car.

"Then, I guess, today is your lucky day." As the soldier lifted a brow, Tony tossed the jingling keys over the car with a sly  _ha-ha_. Capturing the keys in mid-air and climbing into the slick silver car, there was a part of Steve that couldn't help wanting to brag to Clint.

Attributing a smirk at his partner, Steve ignited the ignition and followed Pepper and Bruce's Audi out into the storm. "Alright, then, let's go." He muttered, cranking the heat knob before retrieving his tea from the cupholder and taking a longer sip.

"You're staying after the presentation, right?" Shooting a fleet glance at Tony as the philanthropist turned on the radio, Steve was forced to pull his eyes back on the abominable roads.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Tony," Steve certified and perhaps a bit more passionately than he originally thought as he set the cup back down. Usually, Steve avoided any thought or mention of a party that beeped out of the billionaire's inherited wit, but Tony had actually been abnormally serious and professional for this upcoming Expo.

Tony was settle as he rested his arm on the door's armrest, "Good, because if you'd forgotten-"

"You'd basically blackmail me," Steve finished Tony's sentence, which only made him snort in retort. The billionaire slightly glowered and merely opened his mouth as the soldier continued, "I recall it as: you swore to God that if I didn't come to the party, you'd flash everyone and say it was at Captain America's request." A diverted huff sounded from Tony as if guilty.  _Now_ , joke or no joke, Steve wasn't going to take the risk; however, beyond the appealing threat, Steve was glad to go in support. "Don't worry about it, I'll be there: I can promise you that. It's not the first Stark Expo I've been to," Steve's voice seemed to roll into a sigh as the memories slowly inked their way back into his brain just at the mention of it. "What are you presenting, anyway?" He queried, intercepting his previous thoughts to avoid what could have ended in a nasty conversation with Tony.

" _Tut, tut, tut,_  Steve, Steve, Steve," Tony began in a scold, which Steve couldn't help but leave the man with a dumbfounded look. "What's the point of surprise if you search for spoilers?" The billionaire gazed at Steve while touching his chin with a figure as if waiting for the soldier to give the answer.

Shrugging, Steve had no real answer. "Maybe someone just really wants to know something?" The Captain basically guessed, hoping it'd satisfy the genius. Tony just gave a nod that almost said Steve's answer was decent.

"Good enough, I'll tell you," the man announced, nearly crossing his arms over his chest, but instead folded his hands in his lap as if the action hurt; which it probably did.

Steve rose a brow, suspiciously, "What?" He was trying to decide whether or not Tony was playing him.

"Yeah, I need to rant to someone other than Pepper," Tony revealed. "Do you know how hard it is for me to keep my mouth shut for three weeks?" Suddenly, Steve felt this might be a bad idea; he could never keep up with Tony on his excitement for engineering. And if he thought about it, Steve was actually impressed Tony didn't break in babbling all his ideas to the group. "Anyway, I've started to model a satellite." Steve almost had a gaping mouth… that was a  _very_  unexpected and challenging project, which even he understood. "Ever since we started manufacturing other products with the Arc, I assumed we could make ourselves even more independent if we got our own satellite. Things would be faster, more efficient, and it'd be self upgrading."

Dragging his eyes back to the road, the only thought that shimmered in his head was:  _Wow_. "Tony, do you know how much that'd help us out?" Tony rolled his eyes, which made Steve question what he just said: of course the billionaire knew. There was some form of amazement racing through the Captain's veins; this could change the way they ran missions, the maps, their accuracy. "Nobody else knows besides Pepper and I?" He asked, shifting his hands on the steering wheel.

"And Rhodey. I would have told Bruce, but I thought it'd be more fun watching his reaction... because, I actually want him to help me with it." Failing to resist a smirk, Steve found that thoughtful of Tony; when you thought you knew the guy, you truly didn't.

Steve's smirk transitioned to an entertained grunt. "Bruce'll be jumping out of his skin." Leaning slightly against the car door, Tony tittered shallowly. Sighing, the soldier decided to leave it at that since the billionaire was beginning to look tired and Steve didn't want to drain him anymore. He would have asked if Tony was alright just for the reassurance, but again, that'd most likely upset him. Instead, Steve found himself turning the radio louder as they continued through the glorious gale in the magnificent city of lights.

* * *

God, the place was enormous. Clint didn't know whether or not he was heightening, but it felt like a lightyear to get around the entire interior of the building. He had at least spent the last hour walking the rafters, but there wasn't a single stench of hostility or suspicious personals. All there was was peace and laughter in the honor of celebration, which Clint should have been participating in. Unfortunately, even with the five star security Hogan and Rhodes put together, Natasha and Clint couldn't help but give one last sweep as the Expo center flooded with civilians. However, as he had promised to Tony, along with his teammates, he would do his best to take the night off. After all, he didn't know who was stupid enough to even attempt wrongdoing with the presence of five Avengers; unless, of course, that was the plan.

Folding his hands together, Clint bent over the railing with some sort of unusual harmony welding into his soul. Clint didn't even know how Tony got them to agree to arranging an Expo within three weeks which was completely impossible; perhaps it was the charm within those sleek puppy-dog eyes. First it was the problem of the billionaire's condition, then renting out the entire place, sending out invitations, organizing what was to be displayed, and what was to be presented, which the genius decided to keep to himself. Three fucking weeks and somehow they pulled it off, but why wouldn't they have? They were the Avengers and that rooted far beyond six lost personas. Out of all the stress and hard work from the team, Pepper, Rhodes, Hogan, and Stark Industries, the Expo was decked head to toe for the celebration of a hundred and twenty-five years of the Stark experience. At first, nobody understood why the Expo had to take place in January out of all the months in the year, but Tony must of had his reasons for convincing them: a new year, a new slate.

Clint actually felt proud to be apart of it, because it looked incredible. White panels were set up in rows to display the Stark timeline starting from the establishment with Issac Stark Sr; all the inventions and involvements from the birth of Howard, the death of Issac, the World Wars with Captain America, the Cold War, the birth of Tony, the death of Howard and Mary, the abduction and return of Tony Stark, the end of the weapons production, the armor and arc reactor, the Avengers, and so on. Samples of food were being handed out while the dining hall had every type of food imaginable from Jamaican dishes to Russian desserts. Lights were hung up, music was playing, there were activities for the kids; and when you took a peek through the glass walls, New York was sparkling in the falling haze of snow. It was more than incredible, it was beautiful.

He enjoyed it up here, observing the crowd quite some ways below, but Clint decided it best to return to the ground as few people began noticing him and pointing. Pushing himself from the railing, Clint slowly made his way along the rafters towards one of the stairwells. Unfortunately, he was at the front of the building and needed to get to the north side where the others would hopefully be coming in soon. When he and Natasha both left nearly two hours ago, they expected the rest of the team to be on their heels shortly, but that  _sure_  happened. Reaching the stairwell arch, Clint declined down the steps while considering a walk among the crowd as going through the private corridors wouldn't get the gang there any faster. Though it sounded tempting, Clint instead slipped into the blaring hallway which was block from the public with rope and security guards.

Passed the dining hall and the auditorium, Clint advanced down a corridor specifically reserved for the lot of them with an abundant of dressing and lounging rooms; and as he progressed, he noticed snow scattered about the hallway, scuffled in from the back doors while voices grew in volume. "Hey, I was starting to wonder about you guys," Clint called, entering the lounge he and Natasha had claimed, where Tony, Steve, Pepper, and Bruce had finally gathered with the Widow who wore a long black dress. "And you can take the cold back out if you don't mind," he added, keeping his distance as the brisk temperature could be felt emanating from his friends while they unbundled.

"Yeah, easy for you to say." Eyes widening in alarm, Clint immediately ducked as Tony chucked his balled-up coat at him. He nearly stood up with a blunt expression before getting pelted in the chest by Steve's coat, leaving snow to fly everywhere.

So this is what the team had come to: throwing coat balls at each other.  _Huh_ , how mature. " _Tony,_  I think you've been influencing Steve too much," Clint declared in a complaint, brushing the icy snow from his black leather jacket while lazily wandering around the ring of white sofas.

"Oh,  _no_ , not Tony," Pepper quipped as she helped Tony adjust his tie before tending to herself.

"You know, I've been looking all over for you." Natasha nipped at the Hawk as he stared at Steve who huffed. "I texted you like a billion times." Finishing, the Widow avoided the few sofas as she carried the coats over to the racks with Bruce; neglecting the few that had been used as weapons.

Realizing he'd unintentionally forgotten to peek at his phone, Clint pulled it out in correction, "Three is far from a billion, Natasha." He received a stern peer from her at the rejection of the sarcasm, which only made Clint wink in addition to his appeasement.

"Well, when you two are finished," the Captain appointed, swinging by the doors to pick up the forgotten coats. The Hawk probably should have thanked him because there was a small part of Clint that expected to be a broken body in seconds flat.

"Yes, I assume the auditorium is ready," Natasha then informed, letting the joke slide as Steve handed the last two coats to Bruce. "You two better make us proud." The Widow finished to Tony and Pepper with an astute smile as she and Bruce rejoined the group.

" _Please_ , have I ever let you guys down?" Tony started, with a hint of the ego that was slowly merging it's way back as his energy did.

An exasperated mood suddenly pulled itself into existence while Pepper just rolled her eyes, use to it. "O'boy," Bruce yipped, dipping his head.

"Now you've done it," Clint uttered, which Natasha gave him a gentle shove as the group gradually made their way towards the auditorium together.

-o-

It took a lot for Clint to find the confidence to trust others; after all, there were few. Being apart of this team though, it was a new experience and seven to eight months ago he couldn't have imagined existing in something like it. He didn't know how or why, but it happened and he was glad it did; it gave Clint and the entire team a sense of friendship that they had all unfortunately lacked and within those few months Clint had learned some interesting facts. Tony was a very restless and go to guy that rarely spoke to anyone about anything, unless he was practically on his deathbed or perhaps dead. Clint would never dare to enter another closet full of skeletons and snoop, but the Initiative profiles and knowledge from the media could give anyone the gist.  _So_ , when the Iron Man had announced within a short amount of notice that he was getting the shrapnel removed, there was the sudden mental jolt of standing face to face with a brick wall. Nobody broke to the truth, but after sitting down, discussing it thoroughly, and taking the individual time to process the information, they found themselves coming to the terms that this was scary. They were terrified because there were only three conclusions and only one would triumph: success of the surgery, complications, or death on the table.

Eight hours. It took over eight hours in removing the reactor housing, the shrapnel, and then reconstructing the sternum and ribs with plating. How did he do it? In Afghanistan,  _without_  anesthetics? That was one specific closet Clint didn't attempt treading, because he felt if he did, he'd come back skinned. The only thing that really mattered was that Tony made it. He made it and they took him home to be monitored under Bruce and themselves, because that's who they trusted; and just because he made it didn't slip the possibility of complications. That sense of friendship had exceeded to a whole new level as they grew even more protective and even more in the state to be there. Then it was 'Let's have an Expo' and here they were, three weeks later. Now, the point of the tangent: caution. The reason for the overboard of reassurance and security, though security had just become nature to Clint.  _So_ , perching cross-legged on the rafters above the auditorium due to Bruce's lecture to the billionaire about limiting himself to fifteen minutes on stage, Clint watched to be sure all was well because that's what friends did.

_Yeesh_ , walking a crowd was one thing, but it just looked like chaos as people continued to swarm the area. Clint was quite thankful for his fondness of heights, stowing up in the rafters with his teammates backstage as things settled down. The security chose to leave the doors open, giving the choice of coming and going as several people were still enjoying the other attractions. "Hey." Clint's focus was pulled from below to the soft footprints that clunked on the metal walkway as Natasha slowly approached with her hands tucked behind her back.

" _Taashhaa!_ How'd you get up here?" Harping his friend's name, Clint fished the question because he knew that dresses and climbing did not equal out; but,  _hey_ , she was the Black Widow - Natasha could practically do anything.

"Magic," she breathed with a smirk.

Clint tilted his head up at the woman, remaining seated as she stopped beside him. A smug look crawled onto his face. "Of course," he mused, reclining slightly to see what was captive behind her back.

"Popcorn." Answering simply, Natasha held out the greasy white bag. The strong and tempting aroma wavered it's way over to Clint's senses. "I thought we could share a treat up here in the  _VIP_  section," she glossed, using the popcorn to gesture at the rafters in a single hand.

After scanning above and below with a snicker, Clint affirmed, "That sounds great, Natasha." Clint took another whiff as Natasha handed him the bag which he gladly took and shot a few pieces into his mouth. Natasha settled herself next to him with the flowing end of her dress falling over her crossed legs. "So they're all set down there?" He then asked, placing the bag between them.

Taking a handful of the buttery popcorn, Natasha nodded, "Yeah, they should be coming on soon... Why? Concerned?" Clint shrugged, throwing pieces into the air and catching them in his mouth. "There's not much need to be concerned, Clint." Any trace of a poker face had long vanished between Natasha and Clint, so there wouldn't be a point to waving off the topic as she continued. "We're all fretting a bit, but I'm sure Bruce wouldn't be having Tony do this if he didn't think he was well enough; and even though Tony isn't very articulate about these things, I've known him long enough to know he can take care of himself."

Swallowing, Clint heaved a sigh, along with a steady nod. "Yeah, I guess so... three weeks is just kinda short, ya know?" He said, shifting slightly as he munched on some more popcorn, "I mean, the guy's just had hell, on top of hell, on top of hell, and it still ain't over." Clint exhaled, staring down through the holes on the walkway. "But, I guess you're right; it probably is better for him to just get it out of his system, anyhow."

"Trust me, if there's something wrong, Tony will give them some excuse to leave." Progressively nodding in hesitant agreement, Clint missed one of the popcorn shots and instead found the piece bouncing off his face and flying beneath the railing in a plummet.

_Oops._

Natasha and Clint both stared at each other. "Well, that person's going to get a surprise," he muttered with the straightest face before sharing a quiet laugh with his partner. Peering over the ledge, it appeared nobody had taken notice as the chatter could compare to a full on rock concert. "That would actually be a pretty cool prank, just dump a whole bunch of popcorn or confetti over the ledge," Clint indicated, though he failed to mention that he was starting to consider it. The assassin just gave an amused shake of her head as she wasn't much into pranking, but somehow remained entertained at Clint's ardor for the mischievous actions.

The lights then dimmed and Clint was barely prepared for the roaring screams that could have shattered his ear drums. " _Finally_ , we're getting somewhere," Natasha alleviated, rolling her shoulders as her attention drew to the stage below.

_Humph_. Rubbing his ringing ears, Clint caught enough of Natasha's sentence. "Yeah, and this had better be good," he grunted, hoping all of their work paid off; but, he trusted that Stark knew what he was doing. There was no way he'd risk disappointing a crowd this large, especially in his own embarrassment and reputation; and luckily, Pepper would be there as a guide if he needed it. Clint nearly wanted to shout _shut up,_ leaning his head in his right hand as the audience bellowed with the lights operating in display and the music beginning in unison. If he returned home deaf, he was going to murder the genius.

* * *

There was something about the thrilling cheers that seared at Tony's flesh and pounded in his ears; all the lights exhibiting heat and the crowd of thousands was... overwhelming. Usually he was alright, Tony loved people and he loved holding Expos; that was his league. However, he couldn't shake the slight nervousness that was tingling his spine as the billionaire sat in the wing of the stage, staring at the floor with the mild feeling of sweat on his brow. "Here, Tony." The slow motion barrier was abrupt, crumpling as all the noise Tony was avoiding in the last few minutes impacted him like a truck. Stopping a startled jump, Tony's eyes shifted up to Rhodey who was offering him a water bottle. He gladly took it before silently thanking his best friend with a head gesture. "You good?" Rhodey asked, dragging a stool next to Tony's as he unscrewed the bottle cap.

Tony rested his elbows on his knees after taking a swig and while closing the bottle, he nodded; however, beyond the painkillers, Tony could feel the irritation lingering at his chest. "Yeah, just taking it all in before I get out there," Tony sighed quietly, directing his sight beyond the drapes and among the audience to which he could not fully see. His pupils then took a few steps back, eyeing Pepper who was patiently waiting beside Steve and Happy in the opposite wing. Across from him, by a few yards, Bruce was leaned with his back against the stage's bulkhead; arms crossed, eyes shut, and head dipped in a rather very calm state, though he occasionally shot a glance up to check on Tony, but besides that, the scientist left the genius to his thoughts. His gaze turned back to his girlfriend. Man, was he lucky she was going to be at his side; if Pepper had been unavailable for this event, Tony would have postponed his sheer need until the summer. After all the recent incidents, Tony just needed a distraction, he needed to see something new and different... something happy. "Yeah, I'm good," Tony repeated before adding in rebound, "But how are you?" Flipping his head in the other direction, Tony's eyes fell back to Rhodes.

"A lot better, and that's the truth," the colonel said, resting a foot on the stool's support, "Government and Military's been picking up the pieces; it's been hard, but I'm sure it's nothing they can't handle." Rhodes reassured, avoiding any mention of Killian, the Ten Rings, and the whole kabob which Tony greatly appreciated. "I just want to be sure that you're taking it easy and not worrying about it; you deserve a break from all this, Tony." For once, Tony completely agreed; the rest was for America to clean up while he dealt with his crap... But would it ever truly be over?

"Trust me Rhodey, you'd be surprised at how far I am from involved," Tony murmured, sitting up so that his back brushed the curtains. "You deserve as much of a break as I do, though." Scratching at the water bottle, the genius sighed as Rhodey shook his head in disagreement.

He thought of it unfair that he was practically grounded in a good way, but Rhodey was still working; however, that was all on Rhodes. After his president saving operation, Rhodes was suddenly treated with a temporary leave for his service... which he turned down. Normally, the colonel would gratefully accept, but there must have been something different about this one. "No, no, Tony-"

"-No, Rhodey, I'm serious, if you're so worried about it then I should be worried about it." Rotating slightly towards the man, Tony supplied quietly in an attempt not to attract people aside from Bruce who popped his head up at their conversation. Rhodey's fingers slowly began to curl. "Do you just feel insecure or does big daddy feel more comfy with his spangled can of miracles?" Tony expelled a long breath, bending over again as he ran a hand over his eyes; he suddenly felt exhausted. "Why don't you just say you'll take it? Come stay with us for awhile," he finished, removing his hand and snipping a glance at his friend.

At least Tony received an understanding nod from Rhodey, which the man bit his lip as if considering the gesture. "Mr. Stark, you're on in five." A crew member then alerted, quickly poking his head around the curtain and disappearing in the next second.

Tony stood, stuffing an uncomfortable groan down his throat with a last sip of water. "I'll see what I can do, Tony, if the offer is still on the table," Rhodes then issued.

"Really?" Asking, Tony pivoted to face Rhodey with a raised brow.

"Yeah, Tony." Blinking in surprise, Tony knew Rhodes would eventually say yes, but he didn't expect it to be this sooner than later. "I guess if it really means that much to you, then I'll do it." ...Well, the luxuries of being Tony Stark.

"Alright." Plain as he spoke, Tony wiped the smooth material of his suit in case something was sticking to it that shouldn't. Then clearing his throat, the billionaire paused, opening his mouth in sudden thought. "Also, when you do, just ask them to change your title back to War Machine; there's no need to make any more of us cry." Rhodey just gave him a demolishing look, but Tony was dead serious.

"I know," the colonel then admitted, which made Tony chuckle at the acknowledgement. "But you know, it's not exactly easy going up to the head of our defense and saying _'Hey, you know, Iron Patriot is interesting, but no offense, I really prefer War Machine because it's less likely I'll look like I stole Captain America's wardrobe.'_ "

Breaking in laughter while brushing his tie, Tony glanced over his shoulder as Bruce joined beside them. Rhodes steadied himself into a stand as the genius exclaimed to the scientist, "Bruce, you should join our petition. What the hell happened to being original?" He finished universally, just as a shout bellowed from backstage:

"One minute!"

"We are not finished with this conversation," Tony ordered, making his way from the two.

"Yeah, I hear ya loud n' clear," Rhodey second before optimizing, "Hey, good luck out there."

"Thanks. Hold onto this for me?" He asked, tossing his water bottle to Rhodey.

Turning around, Tony stood still at the edge of the wing where his eyes met with Pepper's from across the way. "Tony," the genius moved his gaze to Bruce who laid a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy." Tony nodded, trying to convince Bruce that everything would be alright and they would all wake up at the tower hungover... at least they would; he was only allowed the baby portion. For some reason, Tony felt better; maybe it was the talking, or just having the moment finally be there along with his team. It probably didn't matter, though, because no nerves remained as Tony aired into the light beside Pepper, hoping he was giving something good to the world once again.

* * *

Out of all the places to get lost, it was among the food. After at least twenty-five minutes of wandering around the dining hall, signing a few autographs for the kids, and talking to a few strangers, Clint finally decided what he wanted to eat  _first;_ remembering he could come back for seconds and thirds. So, making his way back to the other side of the hall and piling up a plate of Polish fare, the next step was finding the gang... wherever they were, blending with the crowd. Gosh, they should have just worn their suits; at least they'd be able to pick each other out then, especially Cap. Which, thinking of the devil, Clint somehow managed to spot the Captain further down one of the catering tables.  _Well, one down, five to go._  Keeping his eyes targeted on Steve, Clint ambled towards him in hopes he wouldn't lose the guy among the sea of heads. "Hey," Clint called, gesturing to the dining hall, which Steve heeded as he finished dishing up some type of Indian food, "Can you believe all this? Stark must have an ass load of contacts because half of these foods I've never even seen or heard of, and trust me, I've seen some pretty weird foods in my career."

The soldier just smirked as he eyed the colossal room aside Clint. "Well, recently, I think surprise has been replaced by believe in my vocab." The two of them began shouldering through the crowd as Steve continued, "But knowing Tony Stark, surprises are just ensured and if there's one thing I truly believe, it's the humongous bill he's about to receive." Clint sniggered until two kids ran right between them, making Steve and the archer raise their plates out of the way.

" _Whoa!_  Kids, watch where ya going!" Speaking to the backs of the kids who continued in omit, Clint then realized one of them was wearing a Captain America sweatshirt. " _Haha_ , ain't that adorable!" Clint was farce, returning his contact to the Captain while a grin sprawled along his lips. A bashful look moderately grew on Steve's face which was highly entertaining for Clint as the soldier then continued forwards without a word. "I thought you were humble, not sheepish." Jokingly, the super-soldier shook his head as Clint caught up to him. "But, anyway - Yeah, I'm glad that's not my problem because I could never afford this. At least he got some of the labor for free, though, thanks to us." Steve nodded in agreement while the archer placed a piece of sausage into his mouth. "Where are they, anyway?" He asked while chewing.

Steve gestured further down with his head as they weaved among the fancy tables dotting the middle of the dining hall. "Well, if you'd paid attention instead of obsessing over the selections to the hundredth, you would know." Although furrowing his brow at the Captain's comment, Clint silently admitted it the truth, because who could resist such cultural foods? Nonetheless, Clint found where Steve had pointed, to which Natasha and Bruce were sitting next to each other at a smaller, round table.

"Bruce, you okay, man?" Clint judiciously asked as both he and Steve gradually halted, realizing Bruce's face was buried in his hands that were propped up on the table by his elbows. It looked like something was wrong, but whatever the diagnosis, Natasha was acting like world-peace had finally been established as she gingerly patted his left shoulder before continuing to scoop out her clams.

Peeking up with watering eyes, Bruce looked at Steve, pointed at his plate, and croaked, "Do not eat that chicken. You  _will_  spend the next day or two with a bag of ricolas." Steve looked a bit horrified, staring down at the reddish curry while Bruce gulped down his water.

"Good luck," the Hawk elated.

"Thanks," Steve replied, as he sat across from them beside Clint. "Where are the others?"

Natasha shrugged, browsing the area in an effort to answer them, but ended up with, "I dunno. I'm pretty sure Tony and Pepper have been swooped away by the crowd."

"Of course," the soldier muttered, starting to fork the food that had not been touched with the red sauce.

"I'm sure they'll show, but I can definitely predict their exhaustion tomorrow," Bruce said with a huff, still getting over the immense heat as he slowly picked at his food again.

"Jeez, I don't know how they do it. Missions are more in my favor than hosting, but you gotta give them credit." Divulging, Clint then turned to Steve, adding, "If you want, we can taste test together because I kinda want to try that chicken now."

"I already warned you once," the scientist piped, leaning back against his chair while Steve gave him a debating look. Shifting his eyes over to Natasha, Clint spotted an 'idiots' eye-roll, which she was probably correct.

Resting an elbow on the table's edge, Steve gaped at Clint. "Be my guest, Barton, and may god bless your brave soul," the soldier stated at the mild cockiness that was appearing on the archer's face. Steve encouragingly pushed the plate towards him.

Picking a piece with his fork, Clint first smelled it and started to feel some regret from the potent scent of the spice. However, before he could skew it onto his tongue, Natasha came up with, "There they are." Raising a brow, Clint skimmed around the Captain's broad body, making out the frames of Tony and Rhodes as they neared the table. But, that's when he realized something was wrong; the negativity rippling from them like a tide.

_Ugh, fuck no_. Setting the fork down in a slight pout, Clint openly guessed, "Something's come up?" He could identify that look on Tony's face he'd gotten too familiar to.

"Unfortunately, yes," the genius cleared his throat while pulling out a chair and sitting down. The note of his voice immediately influenced a frown upon the four as Tony folded his hands on the white table-cloth and Rhodes remained standing. "A bystander was just shot at forty-fifth and tenth. Female, early twenties." Clint could only sigh as Tony continued, "The shooter appears to be an African American male in his twenties."

"Police are saying there was some type of brawl or robbing at a jewelry store and he is currently headed south on tenth," Rhodes finished while they exchanged looks of both great concern and slight annoyance. The only reason they'd be told this is if they were getting involved. "The police didn't want it to come to this, but the storm's so bad they're asking for assistance."

Sighing, Clint rubbed his face in mild frustration since he was probably going to be asked to get his ass out there in the dead of winter. "Alright, what's the plan?" Steve asked quickly, now that time was on their tails. "Clint and I can go. They probably don't need all of us out there." Wiping his eyes, the Hawk nodded in agreement with the Captain, being equipped with the HUD lenses Tony had designed for him. It should be a piece of cake.

"The rest of us and security can hold the fort, lock the place up just in case." As Tony got up, Clint and the others followed him in rhythm; scooting their chairs back and getting to their feet with the venting of pique. One night, just  _one_  night, things were going well and now this. Sure the situation was probably simple, but still: they were enjoying their time among the community and friends, and some idiot had to take a slice of that from them. "Let's get this done fast," the billionaire respired. He then paused beside Steve and laid a hand on the Captain's shoulder, "And don't slip on any ice." A meager scowl formed on the soldier's face as the genius sauntered off through the crowd, but Clint took Tony's comment as an abstract way of saying be careful.

"You heard him, let's get this done," Steve then repeated seriously and they went their separate ways.

-o-

Following Steve in a speedy jog after they were equipped with the comm in case they got split up, the two found their way down into the garage. "Forty-fifth to here is several blocks to run, Steve, he's probably tired, especially with the snow slowing him down. There's still time to cut him off," Clint assured as the soldier was concerned they wouldn't get out there in time. The loud echo of their footsteps skirted as they forced themselves to a sudden stop behind the Mustang Clint and Natasha had taken. Unlocking it with the key, Steve opened the trunk so fiercely that Clint thought it was going to break. Clint glanced around the garage cautiously as the Captain then pulled up the secret compartment were their gear was. As he did so, Clint's eyes then landed on the vehicle parked behind them in recognition. "You brought the Lamborghini?" He exclaimed in jealousy as he knew Tony wasn't exactly driving yet.

Clint quickly yanked his leather jacket off -  _hell, it was freezing_  - as the Captain replied, who then pulled a high quality blue shirt over his head, "Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you."

"Lucky," Clint muttered with a cloud of breath as he retrieved a shirt-like piece of clothing. It was actually a coat made of a very thin, yet strong material that could trap in body heat and keep the user warm, even in the most brutal of temperatures. Designed by Stark in black and printed with an A on the left sleeve, the coat was meant to suit the team during the winter without interfering with their movement. Once zipping the coat over his shirt and fixing the collar, Clint then buckled up his vest. "Drives pretty slick, huh?"

Steve huffed a small chuckle of amusement at the Hawk, "I would say so, though sport cars aren't exactly my style." The soldier dressed in one of the coats as well before getting out two pairs of gloves made from the same material.

"Right, you're more of an old-motorbike kinda guy, huh," the Hawk said in remembrance. "Well, then, in that case, I get to drive Tony home and that's not a question," he finished as he slid the lenses on. Steve just rolled his eyes, gripping his shield while Clint swung the quiver over his back. Shutting the trunk after Clint finally seized his bow, the two of them then bolted towards the nearest exit to the east.

Reaching the glass door, Clint followed behind Steve as the soldier shoved it open and they broke out into the bewilderment. At first it was silent with only the bleak wind whispering among the assailing snow that acted as falling stars. Slowly, the city noise and sirens grew in accord with the lights, lessening the strident of the dark. "Jarvis?" Steve called to the AI, hoping they had been connected. "Barton, lead the way," he then said as the archer's lenses could guide them more easily.

The snow had a sharp crush as Clint dashed across the whiteout with Steve while the British voice finally came through.  _"My apologies, Captain Rogers, I am currently creating a route which should lead you to the subject."_  Leading Steve onto the sidewalk north, Clint followed the path that loaded in green.

"Jarvis, can you pick him out?" Clint demanded and as he did the lenses adjusted. Scanning among the civilians that were out, there was suddenly a small red ring picking out a target about a block east and a block north behind the buildings. "Got him," he expounded to Steve as they continued across a stop.

"Good." The soldier responded heavily as people fled from the path in alarm.

Nearing fortieth, Clint suddenly narrowed his eyes. "This guy must be pretty determined at his pace," Clint theorized as they darted east across eleventh with few cars honking in fury. " _Shit._  Cap, he just turned down forty-first. There's a fork, it continues straight and cuts off into fortieth." Grunting, the soldier instantly broke from Clint and headed back north on eleventh while the archer continued east. The marker turned down the cut off, which sent Clint's eyes upward:  _Lincoln Tunnel_. God, he hoped he wasn't headed for the highway tunnel. Sliding to a standstill a few yards from the corner where the road curved around the brick barrier, Clint finally spotted the figure as he sprinted senseless across the street. Gritting his teeth, Clint selected an arrowhead before pulling the arrow out by the tail. Stretching the string back smoothly, Clint followed the man with his gaze until he reached the sidewalk. "Idiot," Clint uttered under his breath as he finally released.

Yelling, the man went down with a _thud_  as the arrow gave him a good tase. Vexed, Clint sighed as he roved over to the fussing man who looked... terrified? " _Aw,_  no, no, no, no... What the  _hell_  are you doing here?" The guy heaved loudly, struggling to scramble backwards through the snow as Clint continued to take baby steps towards him; and as he did, Clint realized how young this guy actually was, he had to be nineteen or twenty.

"That doesn't matter, but what  _does_  matter is that you shot a girl, and partially ruined a very important night for my friend." Glaring straight into the young man's dark eyes as he tried to speak, Clint rearmed his bow and shouted,  _"Shut up! Stop moving!"_  Few civilians froze among the streets as Clint's bellow began to attract people. The kid immediately ceased and hoisted his hands as Clint held another unpleasant arrow feet from his chest. "Cap, I got him," Clint said into the comm, glancing down the street the kid came from, "Find your way down Bond Street."

"Got it, I'll have Jarvis notify the police," Steve replied shortly.

A strong gust nearly made Clint tumble over, though he tried ignoring the icy shards that were digging into his neck and ears. "Hurry up, Steve, we've got chicken waiting for us." Mumbling, Clint thought he endured a  _'Yeah, right'_ from the soldier, but a sudden beeping blocked any clearance. The lenses had picked up a signature coming up fast from behind Clint and before he whirled around in alarm, the Hawk concisely found horror striking across the kid's face.

Leveling the bow, Clint shot. Dodging, the caucasian man threw an arm out in attack as Clint did in a blockade, but that didn't cut the incredible impact as the man slammed into him.  _Oof_. The sniper could feel the empty sting of his lungs, the air knocking from him by the man's abnormal strength... Strength that could almost be comparable to that of Captain America's. Collapsing to a knee, Clint grabbed ahold of the man's jacket and forced a fist into his gut. Not attempting to let go, the assassin lifted from the ground and kick off the man's chest into a backflip. Landing square on the snow, Clint steadied himself and rose with a hand in warning. "This is  _not_  going to work for you.  _Stand down_ ," he firmed with a hard glare, breaking it for only a second to spot his bow feet from his reach.

Releasing his jaw, the man dropped a cold laugh. "That's funny," he gibbered sarcastically, immediately pulling out a pistol and  _BANG._ Partially expecting some greeting of that sort, Clint's foot gave in at the deafening crackle; raucously grinding against the white as he barely escaped the hit. Lurching for his boot, the Avenger mercurially elicited his knife, and with  _perfect_  coordination, thrust it straight into the gun's barrel. Aside from the increasing nip and scarlet that could be felt rolling to his right ear, Clint couldn't help but bare a smirk as the action completely stunned the offender.

Speechless over the jammed firearm, Clint charged for his bow, and once tight in his hands, launched from the frosty snow and smacked it across the attacker's face. "You know what? You were right, this is funny," the Hawk hissed as the opponent cuffed his hands over his face and bent with pained grunts.

Gifting a dark scowl as blood ran down his nose, the man stumbled. "I don't even need these," he spat, yanking the blade from the gun, which equally took Clint aback. Curling a lip while tossing them, the guy struck out his palms, and clutched them around the bow with such power that the Hawk could feel it splitting at the rest. And as it did, consternation lite like a fire as Clint found himself being shoved; his feet viciously dragging through the precipitation as the man rammed him against the brick. Gasping for a breath, the bower met the man's stare as he struggled to resist the pin with the bow, but it wasn't enough. Dangerously pointing at Hawkeye, the man snarled in continuation, "because I've got something special for you." Clasping an unbearable grip on Clint's right bicep, the man's skin started illuminating an orangey glow, and then everything became clear.

_Fuck._

Thrashing as the Extremis's cuts healed over, Clint fought against the hold, but failed to avoid the broiling heat transferring to his arm. With bared teeth, the agent temporarily contrived the pain with a swallow; his heart wrenching, pounding in warning at the mauling that scorched at his skin. In the mind set of fight or flight, he kept searching for a maneuver with a free foot, aching for a release from the gruel of it. Yet, the torment soon became so much, that his lungs constricted to a labored respiratory as the Extremis began running his hand along the archer's chest. Spitting in disgust, Clint could no longer restrict a frail and torturous outcry as he finally found the Extremis's knee. Kicking as hard as he could, not caring if he broke it or not, the Extremis crumbled to the snow with a sharp cry. Dropping to the ground, Clint strenuously heaved winces as he leaned against the wall; savoring the frigid snowfall as he gravely linked his fingers around the burnt fabric.

Caustically groaning, he frantically yanked at the material as it proceeded to severely brand.  _"Son of a bitch!"_ Feeding his eyes at the Extremis's yowl, Clint expeditiously attempted to careen as the offender staggered to his feet. Trying to ignore the excruciating ache at every inch of movement, the archer threw out a hand towards his buried knife as the Extremis turned on him. "That's it, I'm rippi-" His growl was demolished by a booming  _thunk_  as the disk whammed against his skull, driving the Extremis to the snow.

Sighing with relief at the sight of the Captain, Clint slumped back on the brick after finally retrieving his knife. "That's not going to keep him down for long. Do you have something that will?" Steve imperatively quipped as he approached the unconscious Extremis through the flurry. Nodding with a grunt, the Hawk agonizingly toyed with the repeaters until he reached a hand behind his back. Bending a knee, he pulled out an arrow and unscrewed the head.

"It's a tranquilizer," he coarsely panted, offering it to the soldier. _"Ah..,"_  Clint critically winced, continuing to tug at the linen as Steve hastily took the head.

"Hang in there, just give me a second," the Captain tried soothing, but the downed barely heard the words as he tore at the coat with the knife. Cutting at it, Clint began to panic as the blight endlessly grew, his shaky hands involuntarily arresting from the pain. "Clint, here." Sundering before the Avenger, Steve obtained the knife from Clint; easily slicing through both the coat and the vest to access the injury. It felt nice: the cold. For a long time, he waited as the snowflakes cloated to his body; waited for the numbness to corrupt. However, even as winter kissed the fevered skin, the miserable pain hardly submersed from reality. Pain as bold as the warm blood that crawled down from the graze, and eventually, Clint followed the soldier's sympathetic breath, to which he enlightened to the vital second-degree burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye has above average reflexes and hand-eye-coordination, which he is trained in throwing knives, darts, balls, bolas, and boomerangs. He also has extensive training as an acrobat and aerialist. This information can be accurately found on his character profile at Marvel.com.


End file.
